The Purrfect Wingman
Ace started, cocking a brow at Zach like he was mentally measuring bicep circumference and background-check credentials all at once, “besides the hero routine and the towel-folding, what’s your story, man?”
Zach’s mouth quirked in mild amusement, completely unbothered. “Zach Dayton. Firehouse Nine. Just trying to help.”
“That’s convenient,” Ace mused, crossing his arms again. “Good Samaritan with abs shows up, sticks around, impresses the cat…”
“Spitfire bit you,” I reminded him, folding my arms tighter, cheeks heating.
Ace shrugged, totally unfazed by the warning nip from my hormonal, overprotective cat. “She was testing boundaries. Happens to the best of us.”
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